Written In The Scars On Our Hearts
by Saoirse Laochra
Summary: The Pirate and the Savior both had their fair share of scars. Their fair share of walls in place to protect the tattered remains of their hearts. But perhaps what made them work so well was the walls; was the scars. (Drabbles, rated 'T' for mentions of past physical, emotional, and mental child abuse, scars, angst, and the like, but there's nothing graphic).
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So.. Started watching Once Upon A Time again (after stopping at the end of Season 2 because of other shows), and I've absolutely fallen in love with Killian, and -to a slightly lesser extent -the Captain Swan pairing. Something I noticed though, was that a vast majority of the Captain Swan stories involve a tragically broken Emma learning to get over her walls, and fears, etc., but very few of them deal with Killian's past. Abandoned by his father, raised in -essentially- slavery from a young child to an adult, losing his brother, his first love, and his hand... He wouldn't be the most mentally stable or trusting person either. Hence... this fic.

These are short drabble pieces, that I'll update as I finish. If you have any thoughts, or particular scenes you would like to see me add to, let me know. Again, I've only seen the latest seasons once, and while I'm trying to rewatch them again, there's probably stuff I've missed that would be great in here. So feel free to let me know if you have anything you'd like me to add. There's no real length limit... some will be longer, some shorter, as the scene calls for. Also, there will be no set time to these -they'll span pre-seasons, to post-seasons, and everything in between. I post them as I wrote them.

* * *

There had been bumps on the road; God knows, there had been some bumps.

The Pirate and the Savior both had their fair share of scars. Their fair share of walls in place to protect the tattered remains of their hearts. But perhaps what made them work so well was the walls; was the scars.

They knew each other in a way few others would ever understand. They understood the pain of abandonment, the pain of loss, and the callouses built over to a once-soft, and carefree heart. They knew what it was to be so desperate to protect themselves, knowing that one more betrayal, one more loss, would be what it would finally take to shatter the remnants of their patchwork souls. They were, in an odd way, kindred spirits. Birds of a feather, and all that. Two lost souls echoing out across the barren landscape of their hardened, battle-scarred souls, desperate for someone, but afraid to trust.

* * *

Emma was staring off into the darkened jungle, chewing her bottom lip, when the sound of a branch cracking behind her startled her enough to pull her from the log she'd been sitting on.

"S'alright, luv; only me," Hook said quietly, leaning against a tree. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"You didn't," She said quickly, feeling her cheeks redden at the obvious lie. "Couldn't sleep?"

He gave her a sad smile as he pulled his flask from his jacket. "Not with that noise," He said, taking a long pull from the flask. "Bloody awful, it is."

Emma breathed a sigh of relief. "You can hear it too?" At his small nod, she gratefully accepted his proffered flask. "I thought I was going insane."

Hook chuckled softly. "You're not going mad, luv. I'm not surprised the others can't hear it. The Pied Piper's tune can only be heard by those who feel unloved, and abandoned. And the cries of the Lost Boys can only be heard by those who were lost once themselves."

Emma paused, flask half lowered, trying to keep the glare from her eyes. "I'm not lost," She bit out, tossing the flask back to him.

He gave her that wry grin as he easily caught it, taking another long swallow before speaking. "You know, I'm half-tempted to say, maybe you aren't lost _now_ … But that'd be a lie too, wouldn't it, Swan?"

"Oh really? And just what would you know about it?" She demanded bitterly.

The smile never left his face as he started walking back towards the camp, but his words stayed with her for the remainder of her lonely vigil.

"Because I can hear them too, luv."


	2. Chapter 2

"Killian."

He stopped, the back entrance to Granny's half-open as he turned to look at her. "What?" He asked roughly, unable to hide it.

"I… Thank you. For understanding. For… giving me time," She said, folding her arms across her chest, and shifting from foot to foot in that annoying, _endearing_ way she had when she was nervous.

Killian sighed as he pushed the door closed, moving back towards her. "I'm not giving _you_ time, luv. If it was about you, I would have done everything in my power to get Baelfire out of the way. Old friend or not, you're a prize worth fighting for."

She pulled back from the intensity in his voice, her face showing her confusion. "Well… then… why?" She finally sputtered.

Hook pulled back, leaning against the opposite wall. "Because Henry deserves a chance to have his father in his life. No boy should have to grow up searching for the secrets to be a man from strangers. I won't do that to any lad."

"That sounds a bit personal, Killian," She said, almost flippantly, trying to hide the curiosity.

"Aye, luv. It is. My father… abandoned my brother and I when we were about Henry's age. Well, Liam was; I was a fair bit younger. And I won't have that particular stain on my conscience. If Baelfire steps up, and does right by the boy, I'll concede. But you want to know a secret, Swan?" He whispered, leaning in close.

"What?" Emma asked hesitantly, resisting the urge to pull away again.

"He won't. Whether it's temptation… the pressure… wanderlust… or just plain _cowardice_ … They never _step up_ for long, do they?"

This last bit was whispered into her ear, before giving her a smile, and walking back out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

David didn't look up, swirling the amber liquor in his glass, as the one handed pirate sat down on the stool next to him.

"Unless you need something, Hook, I'd rather be alone," He said gruffly.

"Well that's just too bloody bad, mate," Hook said sharply, pouring himself a glass of the whiskey. "Since your bloody fight with your daughter, she'd rather 'be alone' as well. And I'm running out of places to bloody well leave folks alone."

They sat in tense silence for a few minutes, each nursing their drinks, before David sighed again, setting his drink down sharply.

"You know, one minute, she _says_ she understands why we put her in the wardrobe. Why we sent her here. The next minute, she's throwing it in our faces, like she'll never forgive us for it."

Hook chuckled bitterly. "That's because she hasn't. And she never will. Well... not in this lifetime, anyways."

"We did it to save our people!" David barked, before looking around, embarrassed at the people staring at the two of them. "We _had_ to," He said, much quieter. "Why can't she _understand_ that?"

"Oh, she understands, mate. Makes perfect sense after all. She just can't _forgive_ you for it."

David scowled at him over the top of his drink. "Aw, the hell do you know," He growled, throwing back the last of his drink.

"My father… When I was a bit younger than Henry, he booked us passage on a merchant vessel. My older brother and I… We were thrilled. We were so poor, half the time we couldn't afford a sturdy pair of boots. So… when he told us we were going on an adventure, we never questioned it."

Hook's voice was quiet as he spoke. "Then, one night… about a day out of our port… I woke, and my father was nowhere to be found. The captain told me… He said my father was a criminal. He'd earned the wrath of the Evil Queen, and… she had put a price on his head. My father had heard her knights were waiting for us at port, so he… He sold my brother and I to the captain, in exchange for a rowboat.

"I happened upon him, hundred and fifty years later, oddly enough. He… he explained to me that he'd done it… to _save_ us. He didn't want the Queen to get her hands on us. And, in his defense… It worked. The knights searched the ship, didn't find him, and left."

He sighed, taking a generous pull from the bottle. "It made… complete sense. But it didn't change what I'd went through. That I was a slave, beaten for any infraction, for ten years. That I watched my brother die, all alone. No amount of _logic_ and _reason_ could ever change that, David. No amount of… explanations, and 'for the better good' speeches could change what I had to go through. And that's why she'll _never_ forgive you."

He sighed, setting his glass down as he stood, and pat the sheriff on the back. "Sorry, mate, but that's the truth of things. I've got to go; I imagine Emma's done brooding by now."

As he went to leave, David's voice stopped him.

"What happened? To your father?"

Hook turned, and gave him a sad smile. "Well… let's just say I was a different man then, and leave it at that, shall we?"


	4. Chapter 4

Emma is a hero. The kind who sees a bad situation, and steps in to correct it. If given the choice between two bad options, she makes herself third option. When told there is no other way, and she has to do something she knows is impossible, or wrong, she ignores it, and makes her own path.

And that's something Killian knows he'll _never_ be capable of. When he sees a bad situation, he goes out of his way to steer clear. When given a choice between two bad options, he picks the one easiest for him to live with. He does whatever he has to do to survive, and then picks up the pieces, and shoves them in a box in the darkest corners of his mind.

Emma _battles_ her demons.

He drinks his into silence.

He's not a fool –he knows he'll never be a hero. And most days, he's alright with that. He's the consummate survivor, and that's served him well enough over the past few hundred years or so.

But there _are_ days when he wishes he could _maybe_ be a hero. Days when the drinks aren't enough to keep the demons at bay, and the price of his survival splatters itself on everything he sees. Days when the blood he's spilt drips from the walls, and the screams of the innocents he's condemned ring in his ears like bells. Days when he drinks the cupboards dry, just to try and drown them out.

Those are the days when he can't escape the fact that he's not worthy to lick Emma's boots, much less hold her affection.

The days when he realizes that, no matter how much good he does now, it will never clean the slate.

The days when he realizes that he will _always_ be a villain.


	5. Chapter 5

_Wounds that are made when we're young tend to linger._

They both tried to pass it off as lighthearted. They joked about it, to hide the fact that Killian had broken the unspoken rule, and said something that actually hit at _that_ spot. The one that's scarred over too many times for it to ever heal properly, the one that only barely retains the shape of what it once was.

He carries the scars of his childhood on his body, a physical reminder of his time as a slave to Captain Silver. Every morning, when he pulls himself out of bed, he can feel the pull and tug of his marred skin, on his back, his shoulders, and his thighs. There are nights when he wakes, paralyzed, unable to move, lips locked in a silent scream. Nights when he can still feel the rivers of blood pouring out of him, pain coursing through him as fresh as it was when he was a mere boy.

Emma knows better than to comment on those nights. The nights when she finds him, pacing the house, bleary eyed, the smell of whiskey coating his breath like a mint, fighting his invisible demons. She understands, because, while she might not carry physical reminders of her childhood, she carries the mental and emotional scars like a heavy blanket she cloaks herself in.

Every time she fails –at anything, be it learning a new recipe, or saving the town –she can hear the voices of her foster parents, telling her how she was nothing before they took her in. How they took her in out of the kindness of their hearts, and she continued to disappoint. Every time Killian holds her hand, she can feel the fear of abandonment, and has to fight down the urge to run as far as she can, as fast as she can.

And Killian just knows. Those are the times when he tightens his grip, giving her that carefree smile he's spent decades perfecting. The times when he casually wraps his arm around her shoulder, and pulls her close.

Neither of them is strong enough to fight their demons; they're far too damaged for that. But they can fight the other's demons. That…

 _That_ they are strong enough for. They can't be strong for themselves, but they can be strong for each other.


End file.
